Seashell Tree
by katieerudite
Summary: Sirene, a girl in District Four, has never decorated a tree until her mother brings one into their tiny cabin. But when she dies, how will Sirene react?


"Silene! Silene! Come help me with this!" Mother calls from outside the little hut we share in the poorest part of District 4.

I walk out and see my mother, my small wimpy mother, pulling a scraggly conifer behind her.

"Holiday tree!" she says cheerfully.

I pick up the tree. Working on the fishing ship has made me strong, almost as strong as Finnik. A year younger than me, he attracts every girl in the District, even some of the older ones. But he only cares about one girl, a little redhead. Annie, I think.

Mother scurries inside. "Right here," she says, pointing to the corner of the room, far from the stove. I set it down in something she put there. I adjust the tree until it stands straight.

Mother has disappeared into the bedroom. She comes back in with a cardboard box.

I peek in. Shells and ribbons and small nets. And something shiny.

Mother gleefully pulls things out and drapes them on the tree. The shells have twine strung through part of them so they hang. The tree begins to sag.

I help her, hanging a shark eye shell on the thickest branch. Then Mother picks up the shiny thing.

It is a starfish, sprayed with silver and gold. It almost glows in the darkness of our gloomy room. She attaches it to the top of the tree.

I stand back as she sinks into one of our hard chairs. She starts humming something and closes her eyes.

I figure that she has a headache. I walk over to the cabinet to get out the pills. I bartered twenty clams for a bottle of 20 pills. Now we are down to six. I'll need to go clamming soon.

"No."

"Mother?"

"I don't need any pills right now. I took one this morning."

I return the bottle to the cabinet.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting next to her.

"Nothing, Silene, memories."

We sit in front of the tree as the shadows cross the room. Then I stand and make fish stew. Our typical food, and least expensive to make.

I make Mother eat it, then take her to bed. She looks tired. I do the few dishes in saltwater I brought from the bay. Then I lie down on my bed, across the room from Mother.

Soon, her breathing slows and she is asleep. Her calm breathes lull me to sleep.

I wake up to Mother's screaming.

I run to her. She is holding her head and rocking back and forth. I run for her medicine and give her a pill. She swallows it, then lays down, still whimpering.

I get a cloth from the cupboard and get it wet. Mother relaxes when the cold cloth touches her forehead.

She is sleeping now, but I can tell by her features that whatever is giving her headaches is killing her, and fast too.

That thought brings a lump into my throat and I gasp. Without Mother, I would be alone.

It is only a few days before she slips into that bliss of unconsciousness. A few days later, I bury her under the maple in the yard.

I sit down beside the grave. Her death has torn me down the middle. I can hardly move. But I make myself get up. Eat. Sit down in front of the tree.

Each thing on this tree was placed by her hand, which I'll never touch again. She'll never touch my face in a loving caress, never button my Reaping dress. And never put the star on this tree.

My eyes blur, and the light glinting from the star blends into wide circles of light decorating my vision.

I never take that tree down. I can't bring myself to it. Her hands decorated it. I don't want to destroy it.

I do fish though. And none of the men bother me. They know about Mother. And they know that I won't be on the boat home if they bring it up. I'll be floating in the water.

Four months pass, and it is time for me to dress up.

I button the back of my Reaping dress, struggling for the one in the middle. I brush my hair until it shines and tie it in a bun. I need to look good for the Capital.

Because I _am_ going.

And no one can stop me.

We all register and line up. A name is called, but I don't hear it. Because as the tentative girl picks her way towards the stage, I call out.

"I volunteer as Tribute."

Because dying in the games is better than living by my Mother's grave. And if I die, I'll be with her. And if I win, I'll be on the other side of the District, in the Victor's village.

At this thought, I raise my head and look straight at the camera. I'm ready.


End file.
